


Love Struck

by actuallymaxie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Closeted Character, Comedian Richie Tozier, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 14:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21037934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallymaxie/pseuds/actuallymaxie
Summary: For the Meet Cute prompt:Person A gets hit by a car. Person B is driving the car.Or: Eddie runs Richie over, and then they fall in love.





	Love Struck

Eddie is not a good driver. 

To be completely fair, almost no one in New York City is a good driver. Born New Yorkers never learn how to drive correctly in the first place, and people who move to the city from elsewhere slowly devolve into little balls of road rage over time. There are actual laws and previously agreed upon yet unspoken rules of driving, but almost no one in the city follows any of them. They’re all just trying as hard as they can to get where they’re going as fast as they can, and everyone else is just aggressively in the way. 

“Hey, dickhead! Flow of traffic mean  
anything to you?” he bellows out his window as he zooms past a taxi. The cabbie shouts back something he can’t hear and flips him off. It makes him fume, but he keeps driving, barreling through a yellow light. 

He’s not late, per se. He’s about as late as every driver on their commute on a Thursday morning at 7:15 am. Which is to say, he definitely should not have stopped for a latte on his way to the office, but he can probably sneak in undetected and look busy by the time his boss starts puttering around the cubicles. Someone behind him lays on their horn. He swivels around in his seat to give the guy a piece of his mind, and when he turns back around, he nearly has a heart attack on the spot. 

“Fuck!” he screams, and he slams down on his brake as hard as he can, and he’s almost fast enough. Almost. 

The man who had been previously just trying to cross the street bounces hard off of his bumper and then disappears, his body falling heavily to the crosswalk. Eddie’s car jerks to a stop and he just sits in it for a moment, hunched over his steering wheel, his heart hammering in his ears. Then he dives out of the car and runs around to the front so he can assess the damage. 

“No, no no no,” he mumbles. “Oh god, oh god.”

He knows he’s a bad driver. He knows. And it’s not just because he as born and raised in the city, he thinks madly as he drops to his knees beside the man groaning in the middle of the street. His friend Bill had always refused to let him drive them anywhere. He’d tease, “You know gays can’t drive! No offense.” And then they’d all take an Uber because under that logic, neither Bill nor his boyfriend Mike were allowed to drive either. 

The man is lying flat in his back, his face pinched as he stares up at the sky. His legs are bent strangely and his arms are splayed out at his sides. He’s got shaggy brown hair and a little too much five o’clock shadow, but he’s cute. ‘He’s cute,’ Eddie thinks, and then he thinks. ‘Oh my god, he’s cute, and I killed him.’ 

Eddie leans over him worriedly. “Oh my god,” he repeats. “Are you okay?”

The man groans breathlessly. One of his hands fumbles toward his head, touching his own face and hair. “Ow,” he moans pitifully. 

“Don’t move!” Eddie shrieks. “Don’t move, don’t move. You could have a broken spine or a brain injury or -!”

“I called 911,” someone tells him. Eddie looks up and sees a small crowd has formed. They’re standing awkwardly in a circle around them and they are all entirely unhelpful and overly judgey, in his opinion. Eddie looks down at the man again. He’s pawing around above his head with his right hand, his eyes squinted almost shut as he cranes his neck and tries to look around. 

“Hey! Stop moving, asshole!” Eddie snaps. “Your spine - “

“Don’t call me an asshole, asshole! You just ran me over!”

“I’m sorry!” Eddie says desperately. “I’m sorry, just stop fucking moving, okay?”

“I can’t see,” the man groans. Panic swells in Eddie’s chest and he thinks, ‘oh my fucking god, I’ve fucking blinded him!’ Then the man speaks again. “My glasses. Where are my glasses?”

Eddie looks around wildly. Some of the other people that are standing around start looking too, and someone emerges from the crowd with a fair of thick-framed coke-bottle glasses. He hands them to Eddie, who shakily tries to put them on the man’s face, almost poking his eye out in the process, before the man snatches them away and slides them on himself. He blinks around for a moment, getting re-acclimated with being able to see, then gawks up at Eddie. One of the lenses is cracked. 

“Oh shit,” the man says blearily, then lets his head fall heavily back to the pavement. Eddie winces. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says for the millionth time. He rambles, “I’m a bad driver; I’ve always been a bad driver! I don’t know  
how I passed the test in the first place! I should’ve taken an Uber! My roommate always says that gays can’t drive!”

“You think I don’t know that?” the man groans. “Why do you think I was walking? I always wanted to die getting nailed by a hot twink, but I never thought it would go like this.”

“Twink?” Eddie gapes down at him. “You’re not dying. Don’t be dramatic.”

“Fuck you! You’re the one talking about spinal injuries and broken brains!” the guy shrieks. 

The ambulance and police finally arrive at the scene and start doing damage control. Police officers disperse the crowd and start taking statements. A couple of EMTs strap the injured man into a neck brace and then onto a gurney. Eddie stands up as they start wheeling the man toward the open back of the ambulance and takes a moment to be mortified at the state of the ruined knees of his dress slacks. 

“Sir, you’ll have to come with me,” a uniformed officer says to him. His heart seizes in terror and he fumbles in his pocket for his inhaler. He puffs hard on it. He may not have killed the guy, but he still ran him over, and he’s almost definitely going to fucking jail. He takes another puff and tries not to feel lightheaded at the thought of how disgusting his prison cell is going to be. 

“No fucking way,” someone yells, and Eddie spins around to see the man shouting even as the EMTs load him into the back of their rig. He looks mad as hell and also absolutely ridiculous, stiff and still in the brace and restraints. “No way, man. He fucking got me into this mess and my friend is going to be pissed. I am so not taking the blame for this. He’s coming with me so he can explain it to him himself.”

“Sir, please calm down,” one of the EMTs says. 

“You have to come to the station,” the officer says doubtfully, but he’s squinting at the man on the backboard. “Hey, aren’t you Richie Tozier?”

“Yes,” the man - Richie Tozier, it seems - huffs. “And you can totally have an autograph or whatever but only if you let that fuckface come with me.”

That’s how Eddie finds himself squished into the back corner of the ambulance, trying to give the nice lady EMT space to work as they speed through the city toward the hospital. The lady takes all of Richie Tozier’s vitals and checks his pupils. She seems an appropriate amount of worried, in Eddie’s opinion. She doesn’t seem to think he’s fine, but she also isn’t acting like he’s going to die any time soon, so that seems like good news. 

“How’d that police officer know your name?” Eddie asks. “Are you a criminal? Is there a warrant out for your arrest?”

“You think I’m a criminal and I offered him an autograph?” Richie snarks. Eddie blushes. 

“You’re an idiot who walks into oncoming traffic. I don’t know what you do in your downtime,” Eddie snaps back. 

“He’s a comedian,” the lady EMT says. “He’s funny, too. He has a Netflix special and everything.”

Eddie puffs his inhaler and tries not to think about how he ran the fuck over a famous person on the rest of the drive to the hospital. At one point, the EMT takes his blood pressure too, just for good measure. 

There’s a few doctors standing around at the ambulance bay when they finally arrive. One of them walks straight up to them as they’re unloading Richie’s stretcher. He’s wearing ugly green scrubs and latex gloves, and his curly is slightly wild. 

“What the fuck, Richie?” is the first thing out of his mouth. 

Richie groans as the EMTs jostle him onto the gurney. “Stan the Man,” he moans. “It’s his fault. I swear to god.”

Eddie gulps as the man’s intense eyes swivel over to him. “It was an accident!” he squeaks, but he doesn’t know if the doctor actually hears him because he seems very busy berating Richie. 

“I told you to take a cab, and then I get a call that you got hit by a car - “

“I had the right of way - “

“Do not try to tell me you were waiting for the signal, because I swear - “

Eddie follows their bickering into the emergency room, where Richie is swept away in a flurry of scrubs and rushed voices. He finds himself sequestered into a waiting area, where a police officer eventually finds him. He answers all of the officer’s questions honestly because he doesn’t really know what else to do, and he just waits for any updates he might potentially get on the guy he almost accidentally murdered with his Rav4 that morning. Work calls a few times, but he doesn’t answer. He could get fired, he knows, but he also might end up in a prison cell by the end of the day, so it seems like a small risk. 

A pair of sneakers appear in his line of sight. Eddie takes a moment to appreciate the doctor’s sensible footwear choices, then slowly looks up to meet his eyes. The look in the doctor’s eyes makes him feel like he’s a little kid cowering in the principal’s office. 

“I’m Dr. Uris,” he says. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“I’m sorry,” he squeaks. 

“Yeah, I don’t really think I’m the one who you should apologize to.”

“Is he gonna die?” 

“No,” Dr. Uris says, and relief hits Eddie so hard that he feels lightheaded. “He’s gonna be fine. He’s basically one giant bruise right now, and he’s getting a cast put on for a broken radius and ulna, probably sustained when he tried to catch himself from falling after getting hit by a car.”

Eddie winces. “It was an accident. I just looked up and he was there, and I tried to stop but I couldn’t, and he was just down and he was talking and everything but I was sure I killed him and he called me a twink and are you sure he’s not going to die because I can’t go to prison okay because there’s so many germs in prison and I’m pretty sure they don’t let you buy Clorox wipes in the commissary and - “

“Breathe into this,” Dr. Uris says, then presses an oxygen mask over Eddie’s mouth and nose. “Did anyone treat you for shock, Mister...?”

“Kaspbrak,” Eddie wheezes into the mask. Fresh oxygen fills his mouth, quicker and more potent than his inhaler ever could. He feels himself start to call down immediately. “Eddie Kaspbrak. The lady in the ambulance took my blood pressure and said it was high, but it’s always high because I’m always nervous.”

“I’m going to help you loosen your tie, Mr. Kaspbrak. Hold the mask, please.” Dr. Uris makes quick work of loosening Eddie’s tie and unbuttoning his collar. He breathes heavily into the mask and nods thankfully up at him. “Just breathe. You’ll start to feel better soon. Can I get a shock blanket over here?”

Eddie insists on taking his shock blanket and oxygen mask to Richie’s room. Richie is doped to the gills and floating in and out of coherency, his arm freshly casted and propped up on a pillow. His head swivels in Eddie’s direction when he realizes he’s not alone. He smiles dopily over at him, and Eddie is once again reminded that he’s really quite attractive, even halfway flattened and on a painkiller cocktail. 

“Gosh, you’re cute,” he mumbles. “Why’d you have to run me over, cutie?”

“Don’t call me cute,” Eddie sighs, “and it was an accident. You stepped out in front of me.”

“Agree to disagree, cutie.”

“Eddie.”

“What?” Richie mumbles, already half asleep. 

“My name’s Eddie,” he repeats. 

“I’m not gonna be able to remember that,” Richie slurs. Eddie can tell he’s fading into unconsciousness. He sheds off his shock blanket and goes to his bedside. There’s a marker in his coat pocket, and he uses it to scrawl his name and phone number on the pristine white plaster on the man’s arm. Satisfied, he smiles and caps his own. 

“Now you won’t forget,” he says. Richie smiles dreamily up at him. With his good hand, he pokes Eddie on the cheek. 

“Cute,” he says. “Cute, cute, cute.”

“Stop,” Eddie complains, batting his hand away. Richie just giggles at him, then his head flops over and he falls dead asleep. 

It’s an experience, having to explain his day to Bill and Mike when he finally gets home. He’s on thin ice with his boss and his car has been towed, but they take zero pity on him and blatantly laugh in his face and tease him mercilessly for the next two days. He doesn’t even tell them that the guy he hit was a comedian. He can’t stand to face any more humiliation, especially after he never gets any phone call or text from Richie Tozier. 

Richie Tozier’s Netflix special is sort of funny. He finds himself laughing at it more than he thought he would, but the jokes are pretty crass and sexual for Eddie’s taste. He rolls his eyes when it’s over and Richie walks off the stage, then watches it again from the beginning. 

He finally gets a text from a number he doesn’t recognize a week after the accident. He’s at the office, and he has pretty much given up hope on Richie Tozier even though he still watches clips of his stand-up routines on YouTube in the middle of the night. 

**Unknown:** Would’ve texted you earlier if you hadn’t gone and broken my good hand. I’ll have you know that life is extremely difficult when you have to figure out how to survive as a brand-new lefty

Eddie stares down at his phone for a moment. It dings in his hand, the green message bubble popping up again. 

**Unknown:** Seriously, Eddie Spaghetti. The only thing harder than texting you left handed is using chopsticks 

Eddie scowls. 

**Eddie:** don’t call me Eddie spaghetti 

**Eddie:** also I’m a lefty

**Unknown:** Don’t hit me with your car again and I’ll consider it

Eddie feels the blood rush to his face. He saves Richie’s number in his contacts and then sends him another message. 

**Eddie:** that was one time, and it was an accident

**Richie:** I still think you have to make it up to me

**Richie:** Just you and me

**Richie:** Me and Eddie Spaghetti 

**Richie:** And some actual spaghetti too 

**Eddie:** Are you asking me on a date?

**Richie:** On the contrary. I am agreeing to go on a date with you and the date is so you can make it up to me

**Eddie: ** Can you even eat spaghetti with your non-dominant hand?

**Richie:** You’re right. We better stick to pizza. 

Eddie finds himself tucked into a dimly lit booth at Salvatore’s Pizzeria that Friday night, feeling a little bit foolish because he’s pretty sure he’s going to get stood up for a date that he was pretty much forced to go on. Not that he doesn’t want to see Richie again; he definitely does. He’d sort of expected Richie to get back to him sooner, but maybe there’d been a reason he’d waited. Eddie tells himself that has to be it. He’s a catch, sort of. He’s handsome and he has a good job and he’s a nice person. Or he’s awkward and barely making ends meet and has a mouth like a sailor. It all depends you’d asking. 

He sees Richie as soon as he enters the restaurant. Salvatore’s isn’t exactly the bougiest pizza establishment in New York, but it’s in his budget and it’s low-key enough that Richie probably won’t get recognized by any fans, so it’s a win-win for them both. Richie smiles when he sees them and Eddie stands awkwardly to greet him, then feels stupid because what is he really going to go? Go for a handshake? It’s not like he can go for a hug. He ran the man over; it’s not like they’re old friends. 

“Hey,” Richie says easily. He slides into the other side of the booth, so Eddie sits again. 

“Hey,” Eddie repeats. Richie looks far more relaxed than Eddie feels. He’s wearing a flashy Hawaiian shirt, open over a plain black T-shirt. He props his cast up on the table and Eddie can see his own name between the scrawling handwritings of several other people. “So is this actually a date or did you just need my insurance information? Because I did call Geico and they said they’d keep me updated -”

“I don’t need your insurance information,” Richie laughs. “It’s all handled. Chill out, Eddie Spaghetti. I wanted to see you again. That’s why I texted you to inform you that you were inviting me on this date.”

“Okay,” Eddie says shyly. Their waitress comes by for their drink order. He orders himself a chardonnay and Richie orders a beer. When she leaves, Eddie asks, “So how are you feeling?”

“Feeling? Pretty good, considering,” Richie teases. “I did have to postpone a few shows, but I think it’s for the best anyway. I can write some new material on what it’s like to have a near death experience.”

“Oh, fuck you, man!” Eddie snaps, then softens. “I - I’m sorry though. About the car. You know, I haven’t driven since then. I’m like, afraid to.”

“I’m sure you’re not that bad of a driver. I mean, you’ll definitely be way more careful now, right?” Richie says. The waitress drops their drinks and they order a pizza to share. 

It’s easy to talk to Richie. Richie is naturally very personable, if a little crude. He also laughs a lot when Eddie gets flustered, but it doesn’t make him feel embarrassed. It’s kind of thrilling to be able to make a successful comedian laugh, actually. It makes him feel good. 

As they’re winding down, Eddie says, “Hey, thanks for tonight. I had a really nice time.”

“Me too,” Richie says warmly. He’s still nursing the end of his third beer, but Eddie’s second glass of wine is long gone. He’s stalling, Eddie thinks. He hopes. 

“I haven’t been on a date in... like, years,” Eddie confesses. “I was really nervous, actually.”

“I could tell,” Richie says easily. “You did great, though. Good conversation and table manners. A little unaggressive physically, so I’m docking you a few points for that, but really great overall.”

“What?” Eddie asks dumbly. Had richie been trying to be physical with him? Their hands had brushed when they’d gone for the same slice, and then again when they’d been finished eating and both just had their hands on the table, but he’d pulled away quickly both times. And he’d accidentally brushed his shoes against Richie’s a few times, but - and then he realizes. “Oh. Oh. Were you playing footsie with me?”

“Well I was fucking trying,” Richie says. 

“What are you, twelve?” Eddie asks flatly. 

“I’ll have you know that footsie is a timeless dating activity and studies have shown great success rate -”

Eddie taps his foot lightly against Richie’s, just to shut him up. The smile that grows across Richie’s face is worth it. 

“So how long has it been, anyway? Since your last date,” Richie asks. 

“Uhh, yeah. Years, I guess, like I said. I haven’t been on a date since my divorce,” Eddie admits quietly. His cheeks flare with shame. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Divorce sucks,” Richie attempts to sympathize. 

“I mean, the marriage sucked. Mostly because it was to a woman,” Eddie says. Richie barks a surprised laugh. “Yeah, I know. I was one of those repressed gays until he was almost forty. It’s the worst story ever.”

“So, wait,” Richie says. He leans forward, and Eddie leans in, too, to match him. “Are you saying you just came out, like, recently?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “but to be fair, Richie, when I googled you, I didn’t see anything that said you were gay, so I don’t think you’re even out yet, man.”

Richie leans back dramatically in the booth. “Maybe so,” he murmurs, and takes a sip of his beer. Eddie tries not to notice the way his lips look on the bottle. Richie continues, “But are you saying you’ve never had gay sex? Because I think you’re missing out.”

“I didn’t say that, dickhead!” Eddie says. “I have. I have! Just hookups though, no real dates. Bill showed me how to use Grindr, so. And hey, what about you?”

“Oh, Eddie Spaghetti. You might think that you are king of the closet, but I am the emperor,” Richie says. Eddie winces. “It’s fine, though. It is harder to get hookups, though, because I’m on the down low. Lucky for me, I am an expert at the five finger shuffle, if you catch my meaning.” He winks. 

“I do,” Eddie says carefully. His eyes flit from the cast to Richie’s uninjured hand, wrapped loosely around the bottle. Richie watches him carefully. 

“Third hardest thing to do left handed,” he murmurs, “after using chopsticks and texting, I mean.”

Eddie meets his eyes. Richie finishes his beer. 

“I’m left handed,” Eddie says. 

Richie’s apartment is nice. Or, Eddie thinks it’s probably nice. The outside is nice, and the lobby is nice. The extremely slow elevator to the tenth floor is nice. He doesn’t really get to see the inside of the apartment though, because as soon as the door shuts behind them, Richie is kissing him, and he doesn’t really care about anything else. 

Richie’s hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt, his casted arm heavy and awkward, but Eddie bats them away and makes quick work of it on his own. He then shucks Richie’s shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His undershirt is a little harder to maneuver off of his cast, but soon they’re both down to their jeans and Richie is leading him to the bedroom. Richies got his good hand around the back of Eddie’s neck and Eddie feels like he needs to make up for the fact that Richie’s only got one good arm by touching every inch of bare skin he can get his hands on. Richie pushes him down onto the bed and stands over him for a minute, then crawls on top of him. 

“Ow, shit. Fuck,” he curses, pushing himself up on one arm and trying to take the weight off his broken one. Eddie sits up and gently helps him turn so that Richie’s the one lying on his back. 

“Shh,” he hushes against Richie’s mouth. He works open his jeans quickly and they both do the awkward dance where they try to shuffle out of their pants without it looking completely ridiculous and breaking the tension. 

Richie takes him in his hand and Eddie almost loses it right there. He mouths along Richie’s jaw and tangles one of his hands into his hair. He tugs gently and is rewarded with a soft moan and a firm squeeze. 

“Stop,” he whispers. “Hold on.”

“What?” Richie breathes. “What? Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine, you just really do suck at that with your left hand,” Eddie teases. 

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Actually, I’m trying to fuck you,” Eddie says, pushing at Richie’s knee so he’ll spread his legs farther. “If that’s okay.”

“It’s okay. It’s so okay. It’s the best idea ever,” Richie says. “Lube and condoms are in the drawer.”

Eddie works his fingers inside, sucking a bruise onto Richie’s collarbone as he does. Richie cants his hips and tugs at his hair. When Eddie crooks his fingers just so, he almost gets knocked clean over with the force of Richie’s cast whacking him on the shoulder. 

“Ow, what - “

“Ow, oh fuck - “

“Did you just hit me?” 

“I didn’t mean to, it just felt so good, I forgot - “

“It’s okay. Hey,” Eddie shushes him gently, guiding his arm up to rest text to his head on the pillow. He kisses him gently on the lips, then the center of his chest. His arm aches from the awkward position. His fingers still inside, so he pulls them out and gives his arm a little shake. Richie whines, but Eddie just grabs his other hand and guides it up to the pillow as well. He holds Richie’s hands next to his head and kisses him deeply. When he pulls away, he whispers, “Keep them there. Be good.”

Richie moans but nods. When Eddie lets his hands go, he snakes them up to grasp at the bars of the headboard. Eddie rolls on the condom and then works himself inside of Richie slowly, swallowing up his moans and feeling every heave and twitch of his body as he opens up. 

“God,” Richie groans. “Eds - feels so good.”

He starts slow, feeling his hips meet Richie’s ass every time he bottoms out. Richie’s vocal, which he likes. He’s all sighs and moans and whispered curse words, his head flung to the side as his fingers grapple with the headboard. His hair is wild and his chest is heaving, and Eddie thinks he might be the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. 

Eddie tangles his fingers with Richie’s as his thrusts become quicker and more and more erratic. He comes first, which isn’t exactly kosher, but he makes it up to Richie by shoving his fingers back inside his loose hole and sucking him off, and Richie doesn’t last very long at all. 

After he disposes of the condom and wipes up their mess, he crawls into bed beside Richie, who’s still laying boneless and pliant with his hands by his head. He smiles up at Eddie, though, and reaches up to touch his cheek, then rolls over so they can face each other. They kiss for a while, there in the dark, playing with each other’s fingers and whispering little nothings until their heartbeats go back to normal. Richie’s words become slow and slurred first. Eddie watches him drift in and out for a while. 

He turns and moves the blanket and starts to get out of bed, but he stops when he feels gentle fingertips on his back. 

“Stay,” Richie mumbles. 

“I can’t,” Eddie says. “Sorry.”

“Why not?”

Eddie doesn’t know why not. Everything feels very big in that moment, and he feels like his heart might actually explode. He’s been with men before, but it never felt quite like that, and he never stayed the night. 

“My roommate will worry,” Eddie hedges, which may or may not be true. Bill probably has Mike over, and the two of them are more than happy to just have their apartment to themselves. Sometimes Eddie feels guilty about living with them because it must be such a bummer to have a cock-blocking, divorced sad sack as a roommate. 

“Send him a text,” Richie suggests. 

“I don’t have my toothbrush.”

“There’s a spare in the cabinet.”

“What if... What if someone sees me leave in the morning? What if they out you?” Eddie asks. 

Richie hums. His eyes are still closed. “Fuck ‘em. Only assholes out people. And I don’t care right now. Right now I just want you to stay.”

Eddie doesn’t remember the last time he slept in a bed with anyone who actually wanted him there, so he gets up to use the bathroom and brush his teeth, then slides back into the bed next to Richie. Richie’s already snoring by the time he gets back, so he just presses a kiss to his forehead and goes to sleep himself. 

The next morning should be awkward, but it isn’t. Richie makes scrambled eggs and toast and Eddie does the dishes after. His jeans are okay, but his shirt is a wrinkled mess, so he borrows a t-shirt from Richie to wear home. He doesn’t want to say goodbye, and he doesn’t feel ready to leave, so he and Richie make out on the couch for a little while before Richie regretfully has to get ready to go to a meeting. 

“We should do this again sometime,” Richie says as Eddie shoves his feet into his shoes. 

“Yeah. Wait, you mean like the whole date thing, right? Not just the sex?”

“The sex was great. We should definitely do that again, like, every day,” Richie says, “but yeah, I mean the whole thing. I’d like to see you again. If you want.”

“I do want,” Eddie says softly. Richie smiles at him, and Eddie loves that smile. He loves the way his eyes crinkle almost closed. It’s a smile he thinks he could really get used to seeing. 

It becomes a pattern. They see each other at least twice a week at first, and then Eddie starts sleeping over more often than not. The sex is amazing, which helps but isn’t the only reason Eddie likes spending his time at Richie’s. He likes Richie a lot. He’s funny, obviously, but differently in private than he is during his stand up. He’s funny in an honest way, which Eddie really likes, and he’s actually really smart, and he loves watching old movies and telling Eddie little facts about the actors and directors. Eddie doesn’t even realize he’s practically living there until one morning when he’s searching through Richie’s dresser for his gray slacks and realizes they’re cohabitating. It almost makes him panic, but Richie’s apartment is closer to his job anyway, he rationalizes to only himself, and he has a way more comfortable mattress than the full sized one he has at his own place. He and Richie only try making that work one time, and they both wake up with sore backs the next morning and vow never to do it again. 

He formally meets Richie’s best friend Stan and Stan’s wife Patty, and he likes them both. He also thinks Stan must have the patience of a saint for dealing with Richie’s raunchy jokes and impressions for their entire lives, but he thinks that everyone must think that by the time dinner is over and Stan hasn’t wrung Richie’s neck. He also meets Richie’s neighbors, Ben and Beverly, and it’s not even because they’re being too loud in bed. They’re just nice people, and they alternate having dinner between their apartments every week on Thursday nights. Richie meets Mike and Bill when they come back to the apartment earlier than expected from dinner and catch Eddie and Richie fooling around on the couch. Eddie is mortified, but Richie finds the whole situation hilarious. 

They don’t really go out, which Eddie understands. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; he actually does. He wishes he could take Richie out to his favorite little gay bar or to a nice dinner or to a movie without people seeing them and making assumptions, but it’s not realistic. They are caught once by paparazzi while they are just sitting on a bench in Times Square eating ice cream, and Richie’s agent gives him a lecture that Eddie can hear over the phone about keeping his private life private. The pictures don’t even catch them doing anything scandalous. They’d been careful not to sit too close and hadn’t even been touching each other at all. Richie was smiling and had ice cream on his nose, and Eddie’s face was turned away from the camera. It puts Richie in a sour mood for days, and it makes Eddie feel guilty and terrible in another way that he can’t really identify until he‘s at home, alone in his bed for the first time in a long time. He had almost gotten Richie outed to everyone in the world. He‘s a dirty secret, and he doesn’t know if he likes the feeling. 

He doesn’t like the stilted turn their relationship takes over the next few days. Richie’s getting ready to leave for a six-week tour, and Eddie feels a little helpless about the whole thing. They’ve been seeing each other regularly for over a month, but now that he’s actually going and he’s upset, Eddie doesn’t like the way he feels about their future. The uncertainty is a brick in his chest. 

On their last night before Richie leaves for tour, they’re sitting together on Richie’s couch, watching some dumb comedy, when Richie drops his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie leans his cheek on Richie’s head and takes his hand. It’s the first time Richie’s initiated contact between them since the photos were released. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” Richie whispers. Eddie hums. Richie’s hair is soft against his cheek. 

“Me too,” he admits. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you, too,” Richie says. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting acting stupid. I wish I could explain it.”

“I... I get it,” Eddie says. “It’s okay,” he says, but it’s not. 

“It’ll go quick,” Richie says, “and then I’ll be back. We can go back to how it was before.”

Eddie sighs and plays with Richie’s fingers. “I don’t know if... if it’s a good idea.”

Richie sits up to look him in the eye. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to be the reason you’re outed to the world, Richie - “

“You won’t be,” Richie interrupts. Eddie shakes his head. 

“I can’t take the risk. I don’t want to put you in that position again,” Eddie explains. “Maybe... Maybe this is it, Richie. It was really fun while it lasted. It was... It was the best month of my life, actually. Maybe we should end it now and just let it stay happy.”

“Eds,” Richie starts, but Eddie shakes his head. 

“No, Richie. I can’t... I can’t keep doing this either, you know. It’s been so great, but this last week made me realize that I’m just a dirty secret to you. We can never have a real relationship the way we are now. You’ll never bring me home to meet your family or take me out or on tour with you. I’m not trying to pressure you, but Richie... I can’t live like that my whole life. Never being able to go anywhere with you or touch you or even be seen with you in public because of what people might think or what rumors might start. Worrying all the time that I’m going to screw up and ruin your life. I can’t live like that,” Eddie whispers. 

“Trust me,” Richie says. He takes both of Eddie’s hands in his and ducks his head so he can look him in the eye. “Trust me, Eds. Six weeks, and everything will be back to normal. Better than normal. This has been the best month of my life too, and I’m not ready to let it go, okay? Can you trust me?”

Eddie leans in for a hug, feels the heavy weight of Richie’s cast on his back. “Okay,” he mumbles against Richie’s neck. 

Tour sucks absolute balls. Eddie throws himself into work as much as he can and picks up a lot of overtime to keep himself busy. Richie calls every morning so they can chat, but it almost makes it too hard to function for the rest of the day because of how much he misses him. He spends a lot of nights at Richie’s place because a lot of his stuff is there anyway and because he sleeps better when he can smell Richie’s cologne. 

He doesn’t watch any leaked clips from Richie’s routine because Richie asks him not to. His last tour stop is at Radio City Music Hall, and he wants Eddie to see the show for himself. He tells Eddie he has a new but he’s waiting to try out for that date because that’s the show that’s going to be filmed for his second Netflix special, and he wants to debut it for the cameras. Eddie receives a front row tickets to the show and a backstage pass in the mail so that he can go see Richie afterwards. 

He gives his two spare tickets to Bill and Mike. He assumes that’s what they’re for, since three is a weird number of tickets to send to one person. They go out to dinner beforehand and arrive early. He wishes he had time to see Richie before the show starts, but he didn’t ask and Richie didn’t offer. When they get to their seats, Stan and Patty and Ben and Beverly are already waiting. There are introductions and pleasantries exchanged, but Eddie mostly just keeps to himself until the lights start to go down and he finally sees him. 

They’ve talked on the phone almost every day and FaceTimes a few times, but actually seeing Richie again feels different. He looks good, Eddie thinks, if a little tired. He’s wearing one of his ugly Hawaiian shirts and his nice jeans, but his scruff is neatly trimmed and his hair is styled more than usual. He also doesn’t have his cast anymore, and Eddie can tell that his right arm is a little paler and a little skinner than his left, but he’s probably the only one who’ll notice. He smiles out into the audience and accepts their applause graciously. 

“Hi, New York,” he crows into the mic. “Wow, it’s good to be back home. I can’t even believe they let me in here, to be honest. You think of Radio City and you don’t really think of someone called Trashmouth up on the stage, you know? Maybe in the back alley, but definitely not inside. 

“No, no. It was definitely a sympathy booking. Some of you might have heard that I was in an accident recently,” he says, then pauses. “Yeah, right here in the city, actually. There I was, minding my own business, on my way to get myself a coffee on my day off, and it’s beautiful outside, so I decide to walk. I know, look at me. I’m the picture of fitness,” he says, and the audience laughs as he pats his stomach and flexes his arm. Eddie smiles up at him but doesn’t think he can see him through the spotlights. 

“So I’m crossing the street on this beautiful day, and then all of the sudden I’m hit by a car. I know,” he says as the audience boos and applauds. Eddie wants to shrink in his seat. Richie laughs. “No, believe me, I know. So I’m laying in the street and I’m just thinking, ‘I can’t believe I’m gonna die like this. There’s so many things I haven’t done.’ And then the guy who hits me comes over to me and he says he’s sorry that he ran me over, and it only happened because gays can’t drive.” The audience laughs and Bill elbows Eddie. Richie does that eye crinkling smile that Eddie loves. “Right? And I’m like, ‘What a thing to say to someone. Who actually says that?’ So you know what I did?”

He pauses and looks out at audience. Eddie holds his breath, wondering what’s going to happen next. 

“I slept with that guy,” Richie says dramatically, and there are a few gasps but several real whoops and a round of applause. Richie’s modding enthusiastically. “I know. I’ve actually had sex with him on the regular for several weeks now. I think he’s my boyfriend. What do you think?”

Richie points randomly to the front row, squinting against the light. “Yeah!” Beverly screams, her face alight with joy. 

“This lady says yes,” Richie says, then continues on with his set like he didn’t just come out to over six thousand people and in front of the cameras for Netflix. 

Eddie feels sort of numb for the rest of it, but he tries to at least pretend to be engaged. When it’s over, Richie bows to a raucous standing ovation. Eddie stands between Bill and Stan, cups his hands around his mouth, and hollers along with the crowd. Richie waves at the audience as he exits the stage, but he pauses at the curtain and searches for a moment. He smiles and blows a kiss to the front row, and Eddie can’t find a security guard to get himself backstage fast enough. He slips the badge Richie had sent him around his neck and follows the uniformed man through a side door and down a concrete hallway. 

He’s talking to industry people when Eddie finds him. He stands back awkwardly, trying not to interrupt even though he’s desperate to. Richie looks happy and sweaty. Whatever the people he’s talking to are saying, it all seems like good news. When Richie sees him, he waves him over excitedly. He approaches awkwardly but accepts Richie’s hug. He presses his mouth to Richie’s shoulder to hide his smile. Richie pulls away only enough to look him in the eye. His eyes are crinkles with the force of his smile. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi,” Eddie repeats. His face is so close and he’s missed him so much, he just wants to close the small gap and kiss him, but he doesn’t know if he should. Richie chooses for him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before drawing him into another hug. Eddie feels his cheeks burn and his stomach twist. 

“I missed you,” Richie whispers in his ear. He pulls away again. “Guys, this is Eddie, Eddie this is - “ 

Eddie politely allows Richie to introduce him to his agent and his team. They all seem pretty familiar with him already and tell him that they’ve heard a lot of good things. It makes him feel warm that Richie would tell them about him even when he wasn’t publicly out. Finally, Richie bids them all goodbye and drags Eddie to his dressing room. 

Eddie pounces on him as soon as the door is closed. The dressing room is nice. The green leather couch against the back wall is nice, and the floral bouquet on the table is nice. The painting above the fake fireplace is nice. Eddie doesn’t really have a chance to see any of it. He pushes Richie against the door and kisses him with all the pent up frustration and longing from the last six weeks. Richie kisses him back just as fiercely, both hands warm and firm against his back. 

“God, I missed you,” Richie breathes into his mouth. 

“I missed you so much,” Eddie mumbles back. He curls his fingers in the hair at the back of Richie’s neck and tugs gently. He can feel Richie’s hard on against his hip. “God, I can’t believe I tried to break up with you. I’m so stupid.”

“You are stupid,” Richie says warmly. He kisses him softly again and then pulls away. “So... what did you think?”

“Think?” Eddie repeats blankly. He’s staring at Richie’s lips. 

“Of the show. What did you think? Did you like it?” Richie asks hesitantly. 

“I liked it. Of course I liked it. I loved it. I love you,” Eddie blurts. 

“Eds,” Richie whispers. Eddie pulls away and hates how much he misses Richie’s warmth immediately. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says lamely. 

“Please don’t,” Richie interrupts. 

“What?”

“Please don’t be sorry for loving me,” Richie says, his voice strangled. 

“No! No, that’s not what I meant,” Eddie says quickly. He touches Richie’s cheek gently, feels how Richie leans into his palm. “I just meant... I didn’t mean to say it like that. It probably should have been way more romantic. Flowers and candles and everything. I’m not sorry for loving you, Richie, of course I’m not. I love loving you.”

“I love loving you too,” Richie whispers. Eddie’s heart hammers in his chest. “I heard what you said. I’m sorry I made you feel like some dirty thing I was hiding away. I never ever want you to feel like that. You are handsome and funny and smart as hell and kind of a hypochondriac but I love you, Eddie. I did it for you.”

“You should have done it for you,” Eddie admonishes. 

“I did. I did it for both of us,” Richie says. “We shouldn’t have to hide it. I know I’m gonna be the butt of every joke and criticism for the next few weeks, but I don’t care. I don’t care, Eds. I have you, and that’s all I need. I do have you, don’t I?”

“You have me,” Eddie whispers. 

“And you have me,” Richie says shyly. 

“Only you,” Eddie confirms, and then he fucks Richie against the wall of his fancy dressing room. 

Later, when they’re pressed together in Richie’s bed, Richie’s head on his chest and their fingers tangled together, Eddie thinks it must truly be some miracle that they ended up together. He doesn’t know what other universe exists where he can’t feel Richie’s warm breath on his skin or feel their bare skin pressed together, but he does his best not to think of it. He just holds Richie close and let’s his quiet breathing lull him to sleep.


End file.
